


Confessions

by mad_martha



Series: Auror [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:55:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron and Harry are given no choice but to be honest with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions

The atmosphere in the cluttered office was thick with tension.

"In the course of an extensive career, it has been my misfortune to mediate in many incidents of this nature," Professor Dumbledore said quietly. "But I think I may say with some confidence that seldom have I been so disappointed. The two of you have known each other for the better part of seven years; a friendship which I am well aware has had its high and low points. But _never_ did I think to see the day when the two of you would come to blows."

The two youths were silent, avoiding his eyes.

"Brawling in Professor Flitwick's class like children!" Professor McGonagall broke in angrily. "I am _ashamed_ of you both. I can't imagine what your parents and guardians will say when they are informed, but I think we may safely assume that they will be horrified – and understandably so! At seventeen – nearly eighteen in your case, Mr. Weasley! – I expect a little more maturity and a better example set for the younger members of your house. Pupils have been _expelled_ in times past for striking each other in class."

"I would not wish to be overly hasty in judgement," Dumbledore said, regarding them both gravely over the top of his spectacles, "but I would fail in my duty as Headmaster if I did not make you aware that that the provision for expulsion under such circumstances still exists within the school rules. Do you not see the gravity of your actions? Harry? Ron? You are not boys any longer! Grown men cannot be permitted to behave like this towards each other when they are also wizards in the possession of powers to do great ill."

At the mention of expulsion, Ron turned white under his freckles; Harry bit his lip and stared fiercely at the rug beneath his feet.

"Nevertheless, I am not oblivious to the pressures you are both under or to the difficulties all young men face as they grow towards manhood," the Headmaster continued, "and I suspect I know the root cause of your recent … misunderstandings. It is that, and the knowledge of your long-standing friendship, which I take into consideration now.

"You are excused from the rest of your classes today. Go outside – walk by the lake, take in the fresh air." His voice became heavy with meaning. "Discuss your differences. Professor McGonagall and I will expect you in the Great Hall for dinner, and by that time, gentlemen, I expect you to have resolved this crisis in your dealings with each other. Now go."

The youths turned to the door in uncomfortable silence, but before they got there, the aged, knowing voice added, "And gentlemen?" They looked back. "I expect you to be honest with one another. Be aware that this is your last opportunity to do so. Any more altercations between the two of you and I shall have no choice but to extract the severest penalties."

xXx

It was bitingly cold down by the lake; this early in March spring had not yet decided to fully set in. Harry was grateful that they had taken the time to grab their cloaks from the dormitory, an action which was, amazingly, the first thing they seemed to have agreed upon in weeks. That didn't mean the tension between them wasn't thick enough to cut with a knife, though.

 _Expulsion._ Bloody hell. It hadn't occurred to him that they could be expelled for fighting in class, although when he thought about it Harry realised that it did make an uncomfortable sort of sense. The uproar had been tremendous. To be expelled now would be a disaster, though – well, a disaster at any time, but especially now, when Voldemort was on the loose and Harry hadn't even sat his NEWTs yet.

He stole a tiny glance at Ron; the redhead was trudging along beside him in grim silence and he wondered what he could be thinking. He could no longer make a guess. Things had been difficult with Ron for so long now that they might almost as well have been strangers sometimes. _Like this morning_ , Harry thought in despair, remembering the hateful and bewildering exchange of words that had led to blows in Charms. He had thrown the first punch, but he wasn't proud of it.

Punching Ron had been Sirius's helpful suggestion when, in desperation a couple of months previously, Harry had written to him about the problem. _You should try talking to each other,_ had been added at the bottom of the sheet in Remus Lupin's small, neat writing.

 _How am I supposed to talk to him when he starts every conversation with the words "Isn't there some girl you could be snogging right now?"_ Harry had written back.

 _Don't rise to the bait,_ had been the sage advice from his father's friend. Which no doubt sounded great to a man twenty years his senior, but Remus wasn't the one having to deal with Ron's little remarks or stiff silences all the time. And Remus didn't have a temper like Harry did; or at least not that Harry had ever noticed.

And meanwhile it felt like the rest of Gryffindor House was stuck in the middle of it all, providing an uneasy and ineffective buffer zone between the two of them. The merest hint of one of Harry and Ron's rows could clear the common room faster than any dungbomb. Hermione and Ginny had angrily washed their hands of the two of them, and their dormitory-mates were now acting very much like the residents of a village under siege.

This couldn't go on. The only time they didn't seem to be fighting or giving each other a wide berth was during Quidditch, and Harry sometimes suspected Ron's outstanding edge as a Beater was purely because of the tension boiling inside him.

They were halfway around the lake before either of them said anything.

Finally Harry spoke up. "So, are we going to talk then?"

"I don't know," Ron replied curtly, not looking at him. "Are you going to hit me again if we do?"

"Depends on what you say, doesn't it?"

"Looks like I can't win then."

The aggravation that arose in Harry's chest was so intense that he had to tuck his hands into his armpits to stop himself lashing out. It was another ten minutes of grim marching before he could control himself enough to continue the conversation.

"Look," he ground out finally. "I am _sick_ to my back teeth of whatever it is that's going on with us these days. I don't know what the hell started it or what'll stop it again, but you might just as well get it off your chest - whatever it is that's been eating at you since this time last year - because at this point I don't think anything either of us does could make it worse."

More grim silence. Harry wondered if they were going to make a complete circuit of the lake before they got to the point.

Finally Ron said, "You really don't want to hear what I thinking. I can pretty much guarantee that."

"Seen that in your crystal ball, have you?" Harry demanded. "Did you see me going ballistic? Because I'm telling you, Ron - I'm going to go ballistic if you _don't_ fucking tell me! I can't take any more of this shit! The silent treatment, the snide little comments when one of the girls speaks to me, the bitching at Hermione, that whole business with the Tarot cards last week - like I'd have a hope of reading them accurately, even if I was looking over your shoulder! Then there's that crap you dished out to Ernie Macmillan when he worked with me in Herbology the other day, and afterwards you put the whole classroom between us in DADA! What was that about? Any of it? For fuck's sake, will you just tell me what I've done wrong?"

"Nothing," Ron muttered.

"Nothing. Brilliant. Well, we're back at square one then, aren't we?"

They kept walking.

After a while, Harry said in a voice that was quieter but shook just a little, "You know, if you hate me so much these days, I wish you'd just tell me. At least then I'd know where I stand."

 _"I don't hate you!"_ Ron exploded unexpectedly and they both stopped, staring at each other wide-eyed.

"I don't hate you," Ron repeated, quieter, but he looked wretched. "It's not that at all."

"So?" Harry prodded.

"So …." Ron swallowed and looked away.

"Ron …."

"Look, this is really hard, okay?" Ron snapped. But he didn't look angry; if anything, he looked frightened. His fair skin was sickly white under the untidy thatch of red hair. "Because I know you're going to hate me for saying this, but … but I think I fancy you."

The world seemed to stop rotating for one brief, immeasurable moment.

"W-what did you say?" Harry stuttered. He had to have heard that wrong.

But Ron's face, his whole body language, had suddenly relaxed as though finally saying the words had released him from a terrible kind of bondage.

"I said," he repeated calmly, "I think I fancy you. Well, I _know_ I do," he amended. "I reckon I've known for a while, to be honest."

 _Oh … my … God …._

Harry didn't know what to say. In fact, he was having a hard time remembering how to breathe. Of all the things Ron could possibly have said to him, this was the one he hadn't been expecting and it was like taking a bludger to the side of his head. Or the middle of his stomach. Possibly both.

Ron fancied him. Ron, his best mate. Another bloke.

Another bloke fancied him.

 _Whoa!_

That was … well. That was what, exactly?

Harry had a vague notion that he ought to be having some sort of extreme reaction to Ron's announcement. Aside from anything else, the redhead had just as good as admitted that he was probably gay, and Harry knew that any of a number of their friends - Seamus, Dean, the Creevey brothers, even good-natured Neville - would have responded very badly to hearing that. Any normal, red-blooded bloke would take exception to it - wouldn't he? After all, they shared communal showers and other bathroom facilities with him, and over the past six and a half years they had all seen each other naked on more than one occasion.

Only it was pretty hard to take exception when it was Ron of all people saying it. He'd known Ron since they were eleven years old, after all. They were friends – they were _closer_ than friends. They might have their high and low points, as Dumbledore had put it, but at the end of the day Ron was always there for Harry through thick and thin and, more to the point, through some pretty hair-raising situations. And yeah, okay, so was Hermione, but this was different because this was _Ron_ and Ron was a bloke, a _mate,_ and ….

Ron was looking at him now, waiting, and from the sad look in his eyes he was clearly beginning to think that Harry was reacting just the way he had expected. Which was all wrong -

"Well, you've got a bloody funny way of showing it," Harry told him.

They stared at each other and Ron's face went from sad to bemused so quickly that it was almost funny.

"You - you _what?_ " he stammered, wide-eyed.

"I _said_ \- "

"I heard what you said! I just …." He rumpled his already messy hair wildly. "Look, aren't you going to hit me again or something?"

"What? No!" Harry looked indignant. "What would I do that for, you pillock?"

"Harry!" Ron gave him a look of exaggerated patience. "I just told you that I fancy you."

"I'm not deaf, you know."

" _Fancy_ , Harry! As in - " The redhead flushed. "As in, you know, _phoar!_ "

Harry couldn't help it. He sniggered.

Ron's face darkened into bewildered anger. "Don't you dare laugh at me - "

"I'm not - I'm _not!_ Really! It's just …." Harry swallowed another hiccup of laughter at the look on his friend's face. "Couldn't you put it a bit better than that?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Ron almost shouted the words in frustration. "I just told you - "

"That you fancy blokes. Yeah, I got that."

They stared at each other, then Ron shook his head angrily and took off, walking at a furious rate. Harry swore and dashed after him.

"Where are you going, you dickhead?"

"You don't understand!"

"Yes, I do - "

"No, you don’t!"

"So _make me!_ "

"Fuck off! I should never have said anything to you!"

"Yeah, that would have gone down well with Dumbledore - oh, for fuck's sake!" Harry seized the back of Ron's cloak, dragging him to a halt. "Will you just - _ow!_ "

Ron rounded on him and there was a brief, violent tussle which Harry was inevitably destined to lose. Unlike the smaller youth, Ron hadn't spent his childhood running away from the kids who picked on him. He'd learned to fight off both twins at once, and at an early age.

"Just leave me alone!" he roared when he had Harry properly subdued.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Harry panted back. "You're sitting on me!"

Ron rolled off him and fell back onto the cold, scrubby grass. He looked utterly defeated. Slowly, warily, Harry sat up again and looked down at his friend. He half-expected him to jump up and run off again, but Ron just lay there, staring up at the sky.

"Why are you being such a drama queen about this?" he asked.

"A drama queen. That's great. I tell you something that's been driving me barmy for more than a year, and you tell me I'm being a drama queen. Thanks, Harry."

"I didn't mean it like that. I just don't understand why you're insisting on turning this into a row."

"That's because I don't think you get it."

"You keep saying that, but I heard you just fine," Harry told him.

"Yeah, but do you really understand what it means for me?" Ron glanced at him, then looked away again. "I don't know, maybe this is one of those Muggle differences."

"Are you calling me a Muggle now?" Harry asked, rather amused.

"No! I'm just saying you don't know what wizards are like about stuff like this - "

"No, you're right. I have no idea what wizards think about blokes being gay. I know Muggles don't like it much, though." But privately, Harry was a little surprised at himself too. A small part of him was still gibbering in astonishment at Ron's confession, but he didn't want to shriek in horror or wash the contamination off his hands or anything like that.

Harry wondered if it was just him and the way he was. He had seen so many extraordinary things over the past few years that it was nearly impossible for him to get worked up over new surprises, especially something as minor as one of his friends being gay. So Ron fancied blokes? Wow, big deal. These days he saved his agitation for more dramatic things - like Voldemort.

And this _was_ Ron, who was his best friend.

"Wizards don't like it either," Ron said and he sat up slowly, letting his hands flop into his lap. "We're supposed to marry nice witches and produce more little wizards."

Harry didn't like the angry edge to this statement. He remembered, briefly, the way Mrs. Weasley fussed over him during the summer, the way she always sat him next to Ginny at the dinner table and nagged her daughter to make herself look "nice". He remembered, too, that Ron had always ended up planted next to Hermione, despite the fact that the two of them had had a very public quarrel early in the holiday and had barely been on speaking terms the rest of the time.

 _Was I missing something about Ron back then?_ he wondered in slowly dawning enlightenment.

"I'm going to be a big disappointment to everyone," he said out loud. "I don't like kids much."

"Better get used to them quick then," Ron advised him with a half-hearted grin. "If you marry Ginny, it'll be one a year for the next decade and a couple of sets of twins if you're unlucky."

"I'm not going to marry Ginny," Harry retorted, and blinked at how curt he sounded to his own ears. "No offence, mate, 'cause I like your sister, but - "

"Who's it going to be then?"

"Christ, don't start that again!" Harry scrambled to his feet and after a moment Ron followed him. "I'm not planning to marry anyone!"

"Harry - "

" _No,_ dammit!" And suddenly he was furious. "Have you forgotten who I am? Who I've got breathing down my neck? Married - Christ! I'll be lucky to make it to my next birthday at this rate."

And this time it was him who set off walking like his life depended upon it.

"You are not going to die!" Ron snapped, hurrying to catch up with him.

"Tell that to Voldemort!"

"I can't talk to you!" Ron yelled in frustration. "Anyone would think you have a bloody death wish or something!"

 _"I don't have a fucking death wish!"_ Harry yelled back. "I just want - " He stopped.

"What?" Ron demanded. "What do you want?"

Harry sagged. "How the fuck would I know? It's not like what I want even matters."

"It matters to me."

Harry looked at him, experiencing a sudden, exhausted kind of affection for the redhead. "Well, you're the only one, then - you and Sirius, maybe. Even Hermione sometimes acts like I have a sacred duty to save everyone."  
"You're a _person,_ Harry, not a walking Unforgivable Curse." Ron reddened. "And of course it matters to me. Isn't that what I've been saying to you here?" He tried to make a joke of it. "I don't just want you for your body, you know!"

Harry nodded, grinning weakly. "Good. I wouldn't want to think you were shallow or anything."

The sudden release from tension was a tremendous relief to both of them, but Ron still wanted to clear up one nagging point.

"So … it doesn't bother you, then? That I, um, have the hots for you?"

Harry breathed a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Most people who tell me they fancy me have one eye on a pay-off from _Witch Weekly!_ And the others …." He sighed and tapped a finger on his scar significantly. "The others think I'm something I'm not. You've practically lived with me for seven years, Ron - if you can still fancy me after all the crap I've put you through, then I reckon we should probably just get married already. No one else is going to put up with me for half as long."

They grinned at each other. Then Harry glanced down at himself ruefully.

"To be honest, I don't see what the attraction is anyway. Even Cho kept nagging me to eat more, and every time I see Sirius he mutters about my clothes and tries to give me a haircut."

Ron was able to read between the lines of this statement. "Stop fishing!" he said, giving Harry a gentle nudge. "You're not ugly, okay?"

"No," Harry agreed amiably, "not _ugly_. Just short, skinny and scruffy."

"Oh, give it a rest! You've got girls _panting_ over you - even Millicent Bulstrode watches your arse when she thinks no one's looking."

"God, that's enough to put a bloke off sex for life." Then Harry blinked. "How do _you_ know Millicent Bulstrode's been looking at my arse?"

"Because I've been looking at it too, you nitwit," Ron replied, grinning but very red-faced.

"That explains why you fly so close behind me during Quidditch - unless you're trying to get a look at Malfoy's bum at the same time."

"Who'd be interested in _his_ skinny, ferrety little backside?" Ron declared scornfully. "Besides, I'll have you know we Weasleys are monogamous."

"What - it's me or no one, you mean?" Harry demanded, grinning. "Blimey, no pressure then."

Ron's face changed. "I'm not pressuring you. I'm not expecting _anything_ from you. I know you like girls - "

"Hey!" Harry interrupted. He reached out without thinking, grabbing his friend's arm. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't."

"… Ron?"

"I … I don't think you should joke about that, mate."

Oh. _Oh._ So it really _wasn't_ just about Ron lusting after his body in the abstract. Ron wanted the whole nine yards … whatever that meant. Somehow Harry didn't think it would encompass the hand-holding, snogging and strolls around Hogsmeade that had characterised the larger part of his relationship with Cho Chang the previous year.

Or maybe it would. He really had no idea what two blokes did together to constitute a 'relationship'. But he somehow couldn't imagine Ron's interests in that area being much different from his own, which automatically ruled out soppy gestures like flowers, notes, chocolates and sweet talk. (Except maybe the chocolates. Ron liked chocolate.) In fact, it occurred to Harry that it would be quite a relief. He'd only done those things under silent protest anyway. If it was more a case of going to a Quidditch match and having a few laughs together, then he was up for it -

It was only then that Harry realised he was actually considering taking Ron up on the idea.

What the hell - he wasn't gay! He'd enjoyed himself with Cho just fine, and with Ginny a few months previously. He could look at any number of the girls in class and think they were quite fanciable - if it hadn't been for all the NEWTs coursework, Quidditch practices (he'd been the Gryffindor Captain for two years running now) and the rows with Ron, he'd probably have asked one or two of them out.

Except that he knew he probably wouldn't have. There were very few of them he would trust not to blab, either to a newspaper or to their friends and relatives. Which was pretty much the same thing, since even if they didn't tell a reporter directly themselves, someone close to them certainly would. His one innocent date with Cho in Diagon Alley the Christmas before last had been plastered across every wizard newspaper the following morning, accompanied by the opinions of her parents, two of her aunts and several of their classmates. (Cho herself had been furious about it.)

Ron was different. Even were it possible to conduct a relationship between them openly, he wouldn't talk. He knew only too well how difficult the press attention made Harry's life, and the toll of being under everyone's eyes, from the headmaster's downwards through wizard society. Harry trusted him as he trusted precious few people in his life; he knew him, in a way that probably even his family didn't, and it was that knowledge and the secure feeling it gave him that enabled him to contemplate making such a dramatic leap in their relationship.

Harry didn't consider himself gay. But with Ron the idea seemed … interesting.

"Harry?"

He snapped back to full awareness, abruptly realising that he had been standing there with his hand on Ron's arm for several moments. Ron was looking at him curiously and as their eyes met something in the redhead's changed subtly, as though he saw something in Harry's face that Harry himself wasn't fully aware of.

"Are you going to let go?" he asked gently.

Harry dropped his hand with what felt like an all-over blush. "We - we should turn back," he stammered and Ron nodded agreement, still with that odd, speculative look in his eyes.

"Yeah, we should."

xXx 

The walk back around the lake was conducted in near-silence, although the atmosphere was amicable.

"Transfiguration'll still be going on," Ron remarked finally, as they approached the school. "Do you want to get a drink or something from the kitchens? I didn't have any lunch."

"Okay. But let's not go back to the common room just yet," Harry added quickly. "The first years have a free period this afternoon."

"Okay …." Ron hesitated. "Weren't the fourth years having Herbology in Greenhouse Five when we walked past? We could grab a snack from Dobby and camp out in Greenhouse One for an hour. It'll still be in the sun for a while."

Which was what they did. By the time they sneaked into the back of the greenhouse, carrying a jug of pumpkin juice and a variety of cakes and sandwiches wrapped up in a checked tablecloth, it had begun to rain. The greenhouse was still warm from the sun, though, which gave it the air of a picnic as they sat down on two giant, upended plant pots and spread their small feast out on a potting bench.

Dobby understood the meaning of a good snack, Harry thought as he tucked in. He hadn't realised how hungry he was; quarrels churned his stomach up and he hadn't been able to face lunch anymore than Ron had.

"Did Hermione talk to you about that idea she had for when we leave school?" Ron asked, when the first edge of hunger had been blunted.

"About some of us renting a house together? Yeah. I thought it was a bit nuts, to be honest." Harry couldn't decide if he felt attracted or repelled by the idea of continuing near-dormitory living when school finished in July. "Last year I'd have gone for it like a shot, but I can live with Sirius and Remus now, if I want to."

"I'll go for it," Ron said, staring at a little blue cupcake in his hand thoughtfully. "Anything to get away from Mum. Neville's up for it too."

"Big surprise!" Harry snorted. Neville was desperate to get out from under the control of his grandmother. "Who else?"

"Seamus. He's thinking of applying to Gringotts, so he'll need somewhere to live in London. Dunno about Dean, but I don't think Lavender or Parvati were interested – something about finding a place with Padma. They're no loss."

Harry agreed with this. Although he got along a little better with Parvati these days, she had never forgiven him for the fourth year Yule Ball fiasco, and consequently neither had Lavender. Besides, the pair of them had never lost their infatuation with Professor Trelawney and with her blessing they were planning to set up shop together as professional palmists. To Ron, with his very real gift of the Sight and all the baggage that went with it, this was an affront to put it mildly. Harry could just imagine what it would be like, living in even closer proximity with the two of them and his fiery-tempered friend.

"Could be a laugh," Ron said, when it was clear that Harry wasn't going to say anything else. "You won't be accountable to anyone but yourself."

"And Hermione," Harry pointed out dryly. Oddly enough, being unaccountable to anyone didn't hold quite the same attraction for him that it obviously did for Ron. Harry had been forced to be accountable only to himself all too often in his life, and while he didn't like being restricted, perversely he did like it when someone (Sirius, for example) showed they cared enough to try.

"Tell her where to get off, if she gets nosy," Ron said, unconcerned.

"Yeah, that'll work," he retorted cynically.

"Works for me."

Actually, Harry realised, that was true. Since the big bust up the pair of them had had in the summer holiday, Hermione rarely interfered with Ron anymore. The two of them remained friends, but there was something different about it now. Possibly something, he supposed, to do with Ron's revelation today. Now that he came to think of it, even during his endless quarrels with his friend this year Hermione had only tried to intervene with him, not Ron. But it didn't have the _feel_ of her washing her hands of the redhead. It felt like ….

It felt like she trusted Ron to be responsible for himself.

Which begged the question _why,_ especially after his behaviour during the summer.

"Does she know about you?" Harry asked, suddenly suspicious.

Ron didn't pretend to misunderstand the question. "Yeah."

"For how long?" demanded Harry. "Did you tell her?"

Ron hesitated, studying his mug of pumpkin juice. "We talked about it on the train," he said finally. "I think she was suspicious anyway, but … yeah, I told her."

"You told Hermione, but you didn't tell me," Harry said bitterly. "How many other things do you tell each other that you decide to leave me out of?"

Ron's head shot up, his eyes wide. "Nothing!"

"You know what?" Harry was scrubbing his hands angrily on the edge of the tablecloth, bracing himself to get up and leave. "I don't believe you."

"It's the truth, whether you believe it or not," Ron replied sharply. "Besides, even if it was true I don't believe I'd be the only one hiding things, or Hermione either."

Harry was on the verge of demanding to know what he meant by that, when he suddenly remembered at least two burning secrets he was keeping from Ron. He flushed, subsiding, but was unsure what to say in response.

Ron said it for him. "I reckon everyone has to keep some secrets. You'd never have any life of your own otherwise. Besides, I don't want to know _everything,_ Harry, I just don't want to be kept in the dark about the important stuff."

"Me neither," Harry said pointedly.

Ron coloured. "Yeah, well I explained why I didn't tell you about it," he muttered.

"You told Hermione, though."

"She's a girl. It's different."

Harry didn't really see how, unless it was something to do with how Ron felt about him. He'd briefly forgotten about that.

"Is this something to do with you … you know … fancying me?"

"A bit," Ron replied wearily. "She'd sort of worked that part out, so … we talked about it."

"And?"

"And she told me she didn't think you'd be up for it," the redhead said simply.

"Why?" he demanded, without thinking.

Ron blinked. "Because it's obvious you prefer girls?"

It occurred to Harry that he was shortly going to be having a big row with Hermione too. What business was it of hers, dispensing advice to other people about his love life? He didn't tell people about her boyfriends.

"Hermione doesn't know everything about me," he said irritably.

"She knows more than most people," Ron pointed out.

"She doesn't know everything about my sex life, Ron! She doesn't know _anything_ except what she might have read in _Witch Weekly_ or the _Daily Prophet_ and that's hardly reliable - "

"Shut up a minute, will you?"

Harry subsided again, fuming.

The speculative look was back in Ron's eyes. "Okay," he said, "forget anything Hermione said on the subject. Let's just clear this up once and for all. I've said I fancy you - so are you interested?"

Ron was expecting him to say no; Harry could see it in his face. _Well, sod you!_ he thought defiantly. _Like you know anything about me either!_

"Yeah, I'm interested!" he said, and was pleased to see his friend's eyes suddenly bug out. "What - weren't you expecting that?"

"This isn't a damn joke, Harry!" Ron snapped. "Do you have any idea what you just said?"

"I _said_ I was interested and - "

"And what? You fancy me? You want to have sex with me? Or," and Ron's voice became hard, "do you just want to carry on like we always have, but pretend it's something else? Would that make life easier for you, Harry?"

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"I - " Harry began, but he didn't know what to say and after a moment he fell silent again.

"You don't get to use me as a shield against people," Ron said in a gentler tone. "I'd do that for you anyway, you know I would, but you don't get to pretend to yourself that we're something we're not. Either we are or we aren't." When Harry still didn't say anything, he added, "You don't know anything about it, do you, mate?"

Harry spluttered indignantly. "Being gay can't be _that_ different!"

"Yes, it can. It's exactly the same and _totally_ different." Harry still looked completely lost and Ron sighed, coming to a decision. It was a big risk, but …. "Come here."

"Why?"

"You'll find out if you come a bit closer." When Harry didn't move, Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him closer until they were almost standing nose to nose. "You're not scared of me, are you?" he asked, sliding a warm hand around to cup the nape of Harry's neck.

"Depends," Harry said nervously. "What are you going to do?"

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't - "

Ron silenced him by leaning forward until their noses nearly bumped and brushing a kiss lightly over his mouth.

Silence reigned for a few hundred years.

"Well … you're not screaming or running away, and you haven't punched me," Ron said finally. "That's got to be a good sign. Are you going to say anything?"

"Ah …." Harry managed.

"Great - I've found a new way to stop you talking to me."

"Um …." Harry cleared his throat. "Again?"

"Eh?" Ron stared.

Harry gave him a rather silly grin. "I think I blinked the first time."

Ron said something unrepeatable and grabbed him by the collar for a second, more forceful demonstration.

xXx

"So we wait until after the NEWTs are over. Then what?"

"I dunno." Ron pulled the side door open and shoved Harry through before another blast of wind and rain could create a lake on the floor of the hall and bring the wrath of Argus Filch down on their heads. "Maybe we could go somewhere for a week - just a break, somewhere on our own. Decide what we want to do."

"There are places we could rent," Harry suggested. "Cottages … even some here in Scotland."

"That's an idea," Ron agreed.

Harry paused as they were approaching the doors to the great hall, though, and gave his friend a solemn look, though.

"Are you … are you sure you want to wait?" he asked, much less confidently.

Ron thought about what it had taken for him to pull back and make that decision. What kind of self-control it would take for him _not_ to drag Harry into the nearest cupboard or empty classroom at every opportunity between now and July. Then he thought about how far they had both come in a few short hours, and how nervous Harry had been in the greenhouse despite his bravado.

Waiting might take the self-control of a saint, but he would manage it somehow. At least he had something to wait _for_ now.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said. And he grinned.


End file.
